Page 134 of Desperate People

He’s got her schedule down to the second. All of it outlined in a spreadsheet with time stamps.

It’s such a fucking violation.

And it is thorough.

When she leaves that old apartment.

When she returns.

How long she sleeps.

What food she orders.

Who she dates.

He’s got every email, every social media DM logged—right up to the moment I started watching over her.

I should’ve been there sooner.

Should’ve protected her from the start.

But even I know this isn’t my fault.

I couldn’t protect her when I didn’t even know her.

But I am here now, and I won’t stop.

Not until every threat is crushed.

Not until she is safe.

Not until this sonofabitch is cold and bloated, torn apart by the motherfucking sharks I plan to feed him to.

Piece by fucking piece.

I snatch up my phone, thumb sliding over the screen with brutal purpose.

“Boss?” Onyx answers, voice steady, but alert.

“Get the team.” My tone leaves no room for argument.

“Yes, sir.”

I hang up, anticipation burning in my gut.

But then, all my plans go up in flames.

The motherfucker isn’t home.

He isn’t anywhere.

I spend the entire night tearing through data, hunting every lead, stalking every digital shadow.

Cross-checking security cams, scouring surveillance grids, interrogating contacts.

But he’s a ghost.

A shadow slipping through cracks I thought were sealed tight.

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